ANNABETH was hungry.

Very hungry, in fact. She'd spent her Lunch Break melting her brain while trying to understand Malcom's complicated Archimedes Calculation. It was so branched out and detailed that she'd managed to find three errors already and the equation's meaning didn't waver. That in both ways impressed and irritated Annabeth. Malcom's discovery was borderline genius and might yet win him the Scholarship Prize for Further Education in Zeuopolis Palace itself. Annabeth had been dreaming of winning that prize for her entire life. A scholarship for Further Education at the Palace was the perfect way for her to see something other than the Athena District. That prize was Annabeth's only chance to actually find her place outside of the life planned for her, and Malcom was going to get it instead of her with no idea how much he was gaining.

After that exhausting and foodless Lunch Break, Annabeth had had to suffer through a three-hour class on the uprising of modern Zeuopolis. She may have been interested had it been the first time she'd heard the subject; however, they'd been lectured on it so many times Annabeth could probably recite all the facts by heart. She tried spending the time by working on Malcom's calculation and eating quick snippets of food when the teacher's back was turned, but the boredom was still crippling.

School finally ended at five o'clock; Annabeth burst out of the building while the bell was still ringing and hastened home.

The walk back to her house was boring, as usual, but Annabeth's mind was zooming around. She'd just remembered the gift Athena had supposedly left her in her bedroom. Now, that held some promise. Perhaps it was another scholarship for the Palace, perhaps some ancient scrolls on Greek architecture, perhaps an advanced telescope. Whatever the present, Annabeth knew she could put at least a little bit of hope on it. Her lucky break may be today.

The house looked the same from the outside as Annabeth halted outside the fancy door and pulled her keys out of the loose paving tile. She unlocked it slowly and stepped inside- nobody was home quite yet.

Annabeth dropped her bag by the door, ignoring the fact that she'd been asked not to do so multiple times, and quietly made her way to the stairs over the thick, expensive carpet. Silently, step by step, she crept upstairs to her room. She wanted to be surprised.

With a skip of her heart, Annabeth opened the door to her room and-

-Embarrassingly, screamed.

There was a boy in her bedroom.

He was filthy and obviously abused, his black hair scraggly and dirty. His clothes were very torn and old and hung from him like old pieces of sailcloth. He seemed about Annabeth's age, and worst of all: he had a pair of handcuffs binding him to Annabeth's bed.

Handcuffs.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Annabeth yelled, hands clapped over her mouth.

The boy jumped violently, spinning around and then wincing as his wrist twisted. He didn't give a reply, just looked up at Annabeth with mildly furious sea-green eyes.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" She kept raising her voice, still shocked by his existence in her room.

The boy coughed. "Oh. Um. I'm P. That's… what you're supposed to call me."

"Why the HADES are you in my house? Who let you in here?!"

"Some guy dropped me off." P explained. "Took me out of the Hut and drugged me up and brought me to this place. Trust me, ma'am, this was NOT my idea."

He said the word "ma'am" in a tone filled with scorn. Annabeth scowled.

"In case you were wondering, I'm a gift." He added as if in an afterthought. "A present from your mom. 'Cause there's nothing like perpetual slavery to make your birthday perfect."

"Slavery?" Annabeth questioned, arms crossed, still breathing irregularly.

"Oh, yeah. I'm a son of Poseidon. Guess it was meant to be, huh? Slave life? Yippee, how great for me."

Annabeth suddenly lurched forwards angrily, shaking a finger furiously in P's face.

"Listen here, Seaweed Brain." She hissed. "I want you here about as much as you want to be here. The last thing I need right now is an obnoxiously sarcastic 'slave' as a damned present from my mom. This is NOT what I was expecting when she said a gift! Now I'm stuck with you so you better suck it up and be a bit more respectful!"

P backed away, his dirty back colliding with Annabeth's clean bed. She didn't care, fists clenched, still mad.

"Woah there." He exclaimed, looking a bit scared. "Don't go all crazy on me. I just-"

Annabeth groaned loudly, turning away and planting her head in her hands. She honestly could not believe how this day was turning out. Her head was starting to hurt, a pulsing headache building up in her forehead.

"Okay." She breathed out slowly. "Listen. I am actually exhausted right now and I really need to work on something. So you're gonna go clean yourself up a bit because you are literally dirtier than most gardens in this area, then we'll find you a place to stay."

Before P could answer, she leaned towards him in order to get a closer look at the handcuffs. P lurched backwards, scrambling away from her. She stared at him, eyebrows knitted together.

"What?" she asked.

"I-I. Thought you were-" P mumbled, relaxing his tense muscles. "What were you trying to do?"

"Get you out of those cuffs, Seaweed Brain. What the Hades did you think I was doing?" Annabeth frowned.

"I don't know. Never mind." He said.

Then, suddenly, he blinked. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"That I'm getting you out of those cuffs."

P tugged at the manacles around his hands, showing her the sturdiness of their metal bands.

"Why?" he questioned, confused.

"Because if I don't I'll be stuck with you in my bedroom, creeper. Besides, Seaweed Brain, I don't really appreciate shackling people up."

With that, she pulled a bobby pin out of her jeans pocket and inserted it into the restraints' lock. A few fancy hand movements, a click, and the shackles slid open.

P slowly raised his hands, gazing at them in surprise. Annabeth watched him, intrigued, as he rubbed his wrists.

"Finally." He murmured. Then, "You told me to wash up?"

"My bathroom's over there." Annabeth shook herself out of her stupor and pointed towards the hallway.

P raised an eyebrow when she said "my bathroom", but shakily got up and headed out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Annabeth could hear water running but P still hadn't returned. She suspected he may have left the shower on and escaped; though, to tell the truth, the boy seemed as though he was too weak to manage even the slightest sprint. If he was expected to assist her with manual labor, she'd have to make sure he was actually in proper health to do so.

Twenty minutes. Annabeth heaved herself up off of her bed and crept out to the hallway, listening at the bathroom door to hear if P was there. There were slight movement sounds; he was probably still inside. She could now hear obviously from the sink faucet- a strange choice, considering P had the shower to his use.

All of a sudden, quiet wincing. Annabeth stiffened. As soon as a faint groan of pain sounded from behind the door, she pressed on the handle and opened it.

"What are you doing in here?" Annabeth snapped, then froze. P was kneeling with his back to her, and he wasn't wearing a shirt.

He turned towards her, then jumped and threw his tattered tee over his bare torso. But it was only after Annabeth had seen his scars.

So many of them; perhaps thirty or more, drawing across his back like pencil marks. Some diagonal, some straight, some shorter, some deeper. All white lines against his damp, slightly bruised pale skin.

Annabeth was at loss for words. She gaped at P, shocked. He didn't return the gaze.

"What-?" Annabeth managed, after a long moment of horrified silence.

"I told you, I'm a slave." P answered bitterly. "Slaves aren't people. So we don't get punished like people, either."

"But what-?"

"Whips, Wise Girl." He spoke with a new name, a name that sounded disdainful and even patronizing, but Annabeth didn't notice. She clutched her stomach, feeling sick.

"That's twisted."

"It's reality."

Annabeth stared him right in the eye, grey meeting green.

"Not here." She said. "Not today. Never."

P looked back at her, as if warily judging her next move. Annabeth noticed, for the first time, how tired he seemed. How dark the bags beneath his eyes were. How his bones protruded from his limbs. How he was so skinny and probably malnourished, she was probably stronger than him.

"Never." Annabeth repeated. "You're not my slave."

He remained still as a statue, obviously taken aback by her sudden decision.

She coughed. "If you could… just tell me your real name? I'm Annabeth."

P blinked, then smiled faintly.

"My name." he said softly. "Is Percy Jackson."